


Little Swell of Maybe

by deniallisstrong



Series: Ziam Tumblr Drabbles (ifigureditout) [10]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chance Meetings, Fate, Fate & Destiny, Fetus Liam, Fetus Zayn, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Weddings, fetus ziam, wedding crashers, wedding crashing, yes in this Sophia is from America so that is an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11050518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniallisstrong/pseuds/deniallisstrong
Summary: Universe,Liam mentally bargains with a long, overdue sigh.If you want to give me a sign that she isn’t the one, now is the time.And just then, a raven-haired man practically crashes to the floor in front of him, making Liam almost choke on the bits of egg still in his mouth.Something about the figure looks familiar, the body sparking a vague memory. He blinks, about to chock it up to pre-wedding nerves, about to ask if he’s alright when--The other boy rubs the back of his neck as he lifts his head to offer a small, apologetic smile to the groom before him.“Zayn?” Liam breathlessly mutters as he locks eyes with him, heartbeat erratic as he squints at the familiar man below him.(Or, where Zayn helps Louis crash a wedding only to find that his previous best mate, Liam--who he hasn't talked to in years--is the groom, bringing back feelings Zayn wishes he could forget.) [Based on a Tumblr ask foundhere]





	1. Little Swell of Maybe

Liam is in love. Or, at least, that’s what he tells himself when he wakes up in a cold sweat, heart pounding and nerves frayed as he frantically checks the alarm clock by his bed.

He has four more hours to sleep off this unsettling feeling, this ache that seeps through his skin and bones.

Only he’s repeating these words, this restless chant even as he’s greeting all of her family, carefully avoiding eye contact with the painful, too-perfect bride and groom cake topper. _I am in love. I am in love._

And somewhere in the back of his mind, somewhere he hasn’t allowed himself to roam in months, he wonders--if he has to remind himself, has to constantly run over his thoughts as if memorizing a speech, is he really?

Still, he allows himself to fake it. He does it so well that even _he_ almost believes himself. That is, until he finally allows himself to pause. Strolling over to the food, he grabs as many items as he can fit in one hand before aimlessly heading to the two main wooden doors that lead into the ballroom. He leans against them casually before mindlessly biting into a piece of tasteless quiche.

 _Universe_ , he mentally bargains with a long, overdue sigh. _If you want to give me a sign that she isn’t the one, now is the time._

And, just then, a raven-haired man practically crashes to the floor in front of him, making Liam almost choke on the bits of egg still in his mouth.

The man at his feet groans, though it seems to be more from embarrassment than pain. He swallows hard, loud enough that Liam can hear it from up above him.

Something about the figure looks familiar, the body sparking a vague memory. He blinks, about to chock it up to pre-wedding nerves, about to ask if he’s alright when--

The other boy rubs the back of his neck as he lifts his head to offer a small, apologetic smile to the groom before him.

“ _Zayn_?” Liam breathlessly mutters as he locks eyes with him, heartbeat erratic as he squints at the familiar man below him.

\---

“Louis, this is the _worst_ idea you’ve ever had,” Zayn hisses, almost panting already as he struggles to keep up with Louis. The boy in front of him scampers down the long, sterile white hallways to the large closet where the uniforms are stored.

“Isn’t this, like, illegal or something?” Zayn continues with a push, though he realizes as an afterthought that this fact has never really stopped Louis in the past. In fact, in this case, it probably only eggs him on more.

Zayn sighs when he realizes this, accepting his demise as he scrambles to grab a hold of the catering uniform Louis shoves at him.

“Zayn, it’s not 100% illegal, _technically_. I work for this company, you know, and we _are_ catering for this wedding, okay?” He gives Zayn a sharp look as if to say _I thought you were smarter than this_.

Zayn rolls his eyes, contemplating before finally trying to convince himself, “Whatever. I’m over it.” He shrugs as he comes to terms with it, quickly realizing all the benefits of it. “I guess I can’t talk you out of it, anyway, so I better come along to make sure you don’t get into too much shit without me.” Despite himself, he flashes Louis a grin. What they’re doing may be stupid as fuck, but he has no doubt that this’ll be entertaining, to say the least.

“So, you’re really going all out for this guy, and you’ve met him, what, once?” Zayn huffs in an attempt to change the subject. He can’t help thinking back on all the bold things Louis’s done in the past to get whatever guy he's interested in at the time. While all of his past plans were completely over-the-top and essentially _Louis_ in that way, this new one is his most elaborate scheme yet.

“Yes, Zayn, but it was life-changing, I tell you.” He cuts his eyes to Zayn as he throws off his shirt to make way for his own monogrammed uniform.

Zayn plays along, if only to fill the silence. And to at least have an inkling of what he’s getting himself into. “How so?”

Louis takes a big breath, as if preparing to read him the entire phone book word for word. “He came in with these gorgeous curly locks, right? Bouncing right past his ears.” He gestures with his hands as if that will somehow help Zayn understand. “And his _eyes_ , his emerald green eyes were more brilliant than I’d ever seen before. And those lips. Oh, damn, those _lips_ , Zayn! Of the reddest hue, plump and—”

Zayn clears his throat. “Okay, _Shakespeare_ , thanks for that unnecessary, long-winded description.” He sounds more peeved than he means to. He softens his tone before asking, “So, besides what he looked like, what did he _say_?”

“Err-” Louis’s gaze falls to his pants, which he quickly strips off to pull on his slacks in return. “I don’t really know,” he says with chagrin, his confidence deflating as Zayn reminds him of his shortcoming. “I was a bit, shall we say, distracted.”

He looks pointedly down to his tight briefs, sporting the beginning of a boner, before he finishes throwing on the pants.

“ _Mate_ ,” Zayn chides with a groan as he covers his eyes. “Did _not_ need that mental image.”

Louis just smirks, continuing on as if nothing had happened. “Besides, what he said wasn’t even _that_ important. That’s why we’re checking on him again today,” he says nonchalantly with a shrug. At Zayn’s hesitant look, Louis responds shortly, “You can suss out someone’s true character at a wedding, Zayn.”

Zayn hums. “ _Checking_ on him, sure. Poor lad,” he sighs. A horrible thought suddenly coming over him, he gulps. “ _Louis_ ,” he warns. “He’s not the groom, is he?”

“Shut up and change into your clothes,” Louis scoffs with a tap of his foot. “I don’t have all day.” He crosses his arms, looking indignant as he clarifies, “And no, he’s not the groom. Only the best man, _Zayn_. His name is Harry.”

“ _Only_ ,” Zayn chuckles, shaking his head as he slips into his costume for the rest of the evening. He gives the outfit a once over. “This is completely idiotic,” he mumbles, once again having second thoughts as the realization that they’re _actually_ going to do this hits. Still, his feet follow Louis and it seems his mind does, too. They easily find the right room from the large, gaudy signs guiding them, hinting at _Mr. Payne & Ms. Smith_’s idyllic and grand union.

Something about that worries him, the name striking some sort of chord. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it before he’s being dragged into the large ballroom. Zayn blinks when they enter, surprised at how quiet and, well… respectful it is, almost expecting harrowing organ music to start at any second. His stomach rolls, the sudden sickening worry bubbling up, wondering if he’s just entered a funeral and not a fucking _wedding_.

“Louis,” Zayn moans, trying to unsuccessfully pull him back as he heads for the snack table. “I really think we should get out of here, mate.”

He’s not quite sure why he’s so against it, but his unsettled feeling only gets worse as he steps through the doorway. Louis doesn’t seem to pay him much mind, though, instead squirming out of his grasp to make a beeline for the punch. “It’s fine, Zayn. Go read a book or something if you want to blend in.” He waves him off with a grunt.

So Louis has noticed the dead atmosphere just as quickly as Zayn. Not a good sign.

“You know,” Zayn calls after him, “I don’t even know why I’m here if you’re just telling me to sulk in the corner.”

Realizing he’s a bit louder than he would have liked, he looks around the room, cheeks flushing as he clears his throat. No one pays him any mind. Seemingly in the clear, he lets out a small breath of relief.

After a moment, Louis flips with some (now-spiked) punch in hand to stroll back over to Zayn. “Moral support, love. Besides, gotta have my partner in crime.”

Zayn sighs. He always knows how to get Zayn--and keep him. “Try not to look too out of place, okay, Louis?” Zayn bites his lip, shifting on his feet as he decides how best to preoccupy himself. “I’m going to do my best to look inconspicuous over there.”

Zayn points to the first place he throws his finger, and Louis snorts. “You really are going to the corner then, eh? Alright, mate.”

Zayn has no comeback to that, so he just squints his eyes at Louis and stomps off, already regretting his decision to join his friend.

That feeling only intensifies as he hears a loud, slow voice coming closer from another adjoining, smaller room, potentially one of the dressing rooms. He doesn’t think much of it, except for already feeling _guilty_ , afraid of being caught, for fuck’s sake. But that feeling only gets stronger when he gets a quick look at the man that enters through the door: brown hair that curls to his ears, green eyes that Louis would likely call dreamy, and--he guesses--red, plush lips. They aren’t quite as incredible as he’d expected from Louis’s flowery description, but, still, those must be the lips and that must be the lad.

He makes sudden awkward eye contact with the boy, and he feels his face redden, pretty sure he’s just been caught checking out the best man.

He groans lowly but steps forward, knowing that at this point, he’ll look even more out of place if he doesn’t say something.

He sticks out his hand, lips upturning before he starts, “Hi!” He realizes he can’t quite remember the boy’s name. _Harvey? Harold?_ “Harry?” The word comes out as a question, and he flinches at his own tone.

Harry smiles, dimples popping out as he nods enthusiastically.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Zayn says politely, doing his best to keep his tone reserved as he throws together words. He hopes and prays it’s not as obvious to Harry as it is to himself that he doesn’t know a damned thing about what he’s doing.

“You as well!” Harry shoots back happily, and he seems actually... genuine?

There’s a moment of glaring silence as Zayn tries to decide what his best course of action is, finally deciding on being as close to honest as he can be. “So, err, Harry,” Zayn starts, feeling suddenly shy as he leans in just slightly. “I’m glad I ran into you. I gotta tell you something.” The flips in his stomach make him feel like he’s about to share deep, treasonous secrets, even though, he has to admit, it’s quite mild in the scheme of things. “My friend over there,” he nods in the general direction where he’d just seen Louis chatting up one of the bridesmaids as if he owned the place. “He thinks you’re cute.” Harry’s head immediately flips to the boy, giving an appreciative nod as he turns back to Zayn. “Don’t tell him I said that, though,” he adds quickly, already worrying about the after effects of his words.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Harry assures, looking down to catch Zayn’s name off the uniform. “Thanks, err- Renaldo?”

Zayn gives a weak smile but he’s internally cringing. Why hadn’t he thought to check out the name before agreeing to the shirt Louis gave him? “That’s my name,” he tries. “Don’t wear it out.” He gives a unconvincing swing of his arm and a grimace that’s likely supposed to look a little bit happier.

Harry looks like he’s about to say something more when Zayn breathes, “Better hurry and catch him before we have a second wedding on our hands.” He gestures in that general area again, watching as Harry’s eyebrows shoot up as the bridesmaid grabs onto Louis’ arm and leans in closer.

“Barely have one as is,” Harry mutters. When he sees Zayn’s quizzical look, he swears under his breath. “ _Shit_. Just… forget about that. It’s not that important.”

Zayn only nods, waving Harry off before he can allow himself to overthink what he’s just heard.

With a huff, he allows himself to scan the room again, eyes flitting over everyone and everything to see if there’s someone, _anyone_ , he could talk to that wouldn’t put him to sleep in half a second. 

He pointedly ignores Harry, who’s quickly parading up to Louis with a bright grin on his face. Louis will definitely know Zayn tipped him off given his front approach… but hopefully they’ll hit it off well enough because of it that Louis will eventually forgive him.

He starts to walk around the span of the room, trying to get a better look at everyone around him. Wondering if maybe he’d missed people behind him on the outskirts of the room ( _People like him_ , Zayn thinks), his eyes reach the main doors. He’s just about to give up when his gaze stops on someone familiar. He’s leaning against the frame very casually, contrasting the formal, almost stuffy-looking suit tight on his body. Though he’s older now--three years older to be exact--he’s still definitely the same person. Even more beautiful than before, though, if that’s even _possible_ , his wide, almost innocent-looking brown eyes offsetting the thick, rugged scruff lining his angled jawline.

He pulls it off well, even though part of Zayn wishes he didn’t.

Because maybe it would be easier to walk away again.

 _Payne_. The name suddenly clicks in his head, and Zayn almost wishes he’d never seen the posters out in the hallway. Then, maybe, his stomach wouldn’t be sinking quite so heavily, as if it had an anchor tied to it. And maybe his memories wouldn’t be filtering back through to his junior year in uni when Liam had stood a bit awkwardly in front of the entrance of the airport, arms crossed over his chest as he’d shifted on his feet, not quite sure what to do or what to say.

But how could he forget when he’d suddenly popped forward and zoomed in for a quick, chaste peck on the cheek? Waving him goodbye and reassuring him he’d write and text and do whatever it took to stay in touch, leaving the unspoken promise that the distance between him and Zayn--America and England, college to uni--wouldn’t tear their friendship apart.

But Zayn didn’t let him.

How could he, when, to Liam, his little kiss was just another way of saying goodbye, of letting Zayn know he’d miss him?

When, to Zayn, it was just another hope, filling him once more to bursting until Liam inevitably said or did something to bring that little swell of _maybe_ crashing down again?

Zayn knows he shouldn’t be dwelling on this. Because, while he’s always been a good thinker, unfortunately, when his thoughts go a little sideways--as they always do around Liam--so do his feet. As would be expected, he rolls his ankle, not paying enough attention to his walking, leading him to lamely crash to the floor.

Right in front of Liam.

If Zayn wasn’t quite so fucking _flustered_ , maybe he would find some sort of irony in the fact that, after only a couple of minutes of seeing Liam again, he’s already fallen for him once more. Only this time, it’s a bit more literal than the last.

Much to Zayn’s chagrin, Liam notices immediately, seemingly concerned at first. Another item on the list of things Zayn knows is that he also shouldn’t make eye contact with Liam, shouldn’t go down this road again. Because what did he get from it last time besides heartbreak?

But his neck muscles don’t listen, lifting themselves up as he lets out a low groan.

Zayn can tell Liam hasn’t forgotten either, not when he catches Zayn’s eye, mouth forming into a quick o-shape before he’s saying his name, sounding a little spooked, as if he’s just seen a ghost.

And in some ways, he guesses, he has. 

“Err,” Zayn gulps. “Actually, according to my uniform, it’s Renaldo.” He offers a weak smile, the lame attempt at humor making things even more awkward than before, if possible.

Liam just blinks at him for a second, giving him an unamused frown before he sighs. “Are you here to crash my wedding?”

Zayn freezes, only to see Liam give him a shadow of a smile. “Kidding, Z.”

And it comes back so easily, slips off Liam’s tongue, even though he hasn’t used the nickname in years--hasn’t had a need for it.

He gulps, but Zayn gives him a grin in return. “Well,” he starts easily. “If you want to know the truth, Louis’s here to crash the wedding. Because of… Harry, is it?”

Liam’s eyes dart over to Harry quickly. He chuckles with a slow shake of his head. “Well, seems like it was a worthwhile wedding to crash, ‘cause the two of them look like they’re getting on just fine so far.”

“I miss Louis,” Liam says quietly, the words leaving his mouth before he can really think them through. _I miss_ you.

“Yeah,” is all Zayn can numbly respond, his churning stomach reminding him that it was he who took Louis away from Liam in the first place. Or, at least, Louis followed suit when Zayn cut ties with Liam. “I’m sorry,” he whispers finally.

Liam nods mutely, but doesn’t say anything else.

Zayn huffs as he forces himself to finally get up off the ground, accepting Liam’s hand as he offers it.

Zayn ignores the race of his heart at the touch, the way his throat dries, and he can’t quite figure out what he was trying to say in the first place.

Liam wants to say he’s sorry too, but he isn’t really sure why--not sure what he has to apologize for. _I’m sorry that you left, too?_ _Maybe things would have been different. Maybe I wouldn’t be here today, standing at the altar without you and-_

“I mean it,” Zayn reaffirms, looking at Liam dejectedly.

Zayn had thought the words so many times, wanted to say them so badly. Thought about calling Liam, apologizing to him, making it better--but then he’d checked on Liam, scrolling through his Facebook page to find an American girl in all of Liam’s pictures.

And that was that. Because Zayn couldn’t deal with that again.

 _Are you in love with her?_ “I’m happy for you,” Zayn tries to say as sincerely as he can. The words come across bitter and empty, though. To cover, he ignores the question rattling in his brain, instead asking, “Is she the same one from the pictures?” Watching his feet scuff against the white tile, he ignores Liam’s eyes, hoping to miss the inevitable look of absolutely _sickening_ love come over him.

“Yeah, it’s her,” Liam swallows. But he doesn’t _sound_ like he’s in love. Doesn’t even sound like he’s happy. “She’s over there, talking to my family.” He gestures in a vague direction, and though Zayn doesn’t need to look--doesn’t _want_ to look--his curiosity gets the best of him and he flips around to find her.

He finds Karen first and Geoff next, seemingly looking almost (dare he say it?) bored, maybe even--Zayn devilishly hopes-- _irritated_. The stereotypical California beach babe across them, on the other hand, moves her hands excitedly and her eyes light up as she continues talking. “Probably talking about the yacht again,” Liam says quietly. Zayn thinks it’s supposed to be a joke, but he says it with such conviction it doesn’t really sound like one.

Liam can feel eyes on him at this comment, and he’s suddenly all too aware of the throngs of people surrounding him. “Come with me,” Liam mutters. He jerks his head towards his dressing room, being as discreet as he can.

“People were starting to notice I’d been away from my bride for too long,” Liam explains as he opens the door, holding it so that Zayn can step inside.

“So, instead of visiting your bride like a normal person, you left to hide in your dressing room. With me in tow,” Zayn deadpans. He knows he probably shouldn’t be acting like an arse right now, should be supportive in whatever way Liam needs--has no right for him to be acting like this when, if anything, _Liam_ should be the one acting out and hating Zayn.

But he’s confused as ever, always is around Liam, never quite sure what he’s going to say or do next.

Ignoring Zayn’s comment, Liam promptly closes the door behind them. “Why did you leave?” His words come out almost desperate, hushed and throaty, like they barely even made it past his mouth to begin with. 

Zayn gulps. “W-What?”

He had a thousand different scenarios running through his head, planning out each one to the best of ability, his line of defense always ready. Except for that question. Not that he really should be _surprised_ , per se, and Liam has the _right_ to be upset but— Zayn had _hoped_ more than figured that he would let bygones be bygones.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Zayn says coolly. And he doesn’t mean for his words to come out quite like that, isn’t trying to make the iceberg in between the two of them expand in size, grow the distance between them, that mass becoming just a little bit harder to melt with each word.

Liam lets out a strangled noise. “Zayn, I left to _study abroad_. You knew full well I had every intention of coming back after my year was up.” Liam lifts his hands up in exasperation to spit a bit louder, “I even _told_ you that.” After a short pause and a frustrated huff, he switches on a dime to give Zayn a small, aching smile before his voice goes softer again. “I could see the uncertainty in your eyes, mate. I had a feeling you were worried.”

“Oh yeah, how did you know that then, huh?” Zayn asks, voice steadily rising.

“Because I _know_ you, Zayn!” Liam chokes out. He purses his lips, his eyes clouding over. “Or, at least, I thought I did.”

Zayn’s gaze falls to the floor, sudden tears muddying his vision. “You can swear all these things to me, and you can even swear them to yourself if you want, Liam.” Zayn lets out a low, shaky breath, trying to hide the wetness behind his words. “But you were wrong, because you _didn’t_ come back.”

Liam pouts at the words, at the whine behind Zayn’s voice. And it seems he’s almost going to crack when, instead, he asks quietly, “Did you even want me to, Zed?”

The use of Zayn’s old nickname has him suddenly yearning for Liam, yearning to touch him, tell him it’ll be alright, hold him until all the sorrow he’s created in Liam boils away from the heat of his skin against Liam’s.

He stalls the movement of his hands, though, by stuffing them in his pockets instead.

“Because refusing to answer my Goddamn .29 cents a minute calls or even _write_ _back_ to me, give me any fucking hint that you were okay…” He trails off, seemingly composing himself before he huffs, “That didn’t really want to make me come back, you know.” His lips curl up at the words, and Zayn knows he should explain, should just tell him how he just couldn’t take it anymore--couldn’t handle hearing Liam always offhandedly complaining of being alone, of wanting someone to be with. Because Zayn never felt alone, always felt he _did_ have someone to be with. And that someone was Liam.

He has a feeling it’s going to be a mistake before he says the words--it’s why he didn’t say them earlier--but he can’t stop himself anymore; he needs to know. Because if they’re going to end like this, once and for all, Zayn needs to at least know one thing.

“Do you love her?”

Liam blinks, this time the one to hesitate as he stutters out a breathless “What?”

“Do. You. Love. Her?” Zayn growls. When there’s a moment of silence, a moment that Zayn takes as all the answer he needs, he continues on angrily, “‘Cause let’s face it, there’s no way any of this has to do with me, really. You fell in love with an American girl, and that’s why you stayed. Don’t make me feel bad for something that wasn’t my fault.”

Liam closes his eyes, chest rising and falling at too quick of a speed. It takes a moment, but he forces himself to bring his breathing back to normal before he blinks his eyes open again. He exhales out before he slumps into the nearest chair he can find. “You didn’t let me answer,” he whispers. He worries at his bottom lip, keeping his eyes everywhere but Zayn when he finally mumbles, “I don’t know.”

Zayn’s heart leaps in his throat, the sudden piercing _maybe_ coming back with full force.

He swallows it back down quickly with the horrible realization that, even if by some miracle he doesn’t actually love her... Zayn can’t be the one to break up a wedding. _Won’t_ be the one.

He lets out a hum, not trusting his own voice, afraid that he’ll suddenly confess his undying love for Liam at exactly the wrong time.

“I think it happened because it was easy. She was one of my only friends in America, and you weren’t talking to me, and then _Louis_ stopped talking to me, too, so I just felt really alone, you know?” He sniffs.

Zayn’s heart sinks again at that. He doesn’t _deserve_ Liam, not after all the hurt he’s caused him because he was too selfish, didn’t want to have to share Liam with the rest of the world.

“Her friends thought we should get together, and it didn’t seem too terrible, I guess?” He twists his lip in thought. “And we always got told what a cute couple we were. When my time abroad was close to being done, she asked me to stay. And you—” He furrows his eyebrows. “You definitely didn’t ask me to come back, didn’t even ask me anything or check up on me at all and—” He tapers off. “Then I was _there_ , years were passing too fast, and she kept hinting at marriage, even bought herself a wedding dress, for God’s sake.” He loosens his tie at these words, seemingly choking on them, on the idea of the future he forced on himself. “So I felt like I _had_ to propose, like I was leading her on otherwise, and I would never, ever want to do that.”

Zayn nods slowly, regretting having asked the question at all, because now he’s in a place where he shouldn’t be, doing exactly what he shouldn’t be. Just about to fuck up a whole wedding only because he can’t keep his damn mouth closed.

The silence around the two of them multiplies, suffocating Zayn. He knows this is the time when he’s supposed to be soothing the groom, letting him know that it will all be alright, but he can’t find it in himself to say the words. 

Because this doesn’t _seem_ like a man committed in love, committed to spending the rest of his life with this girl. This sounds like a man on the brink of running away to find a calm, quiet cabin in the woods for a moment of air. And, in all honesty, this doesn’t really lead Zayn to knowif it _will,_ actually, all be alright.

Finally, Liam fills the silence, his words only leaving Zayn to worry even further. “Do you think that maybe, in its own fucked up way, fate brought you here? And you’re here instead of her and—”

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn says sharply. He may be frozen behind his bundle of hopes and fears, may be hesitant on quite what to do. But he knows that that sort of conversation won’t lead anywhere that he wants to go. Can’t even allow himself to imagine that sort of road, because he gets a sort of sick _pleasure_ from the idea, the thought that Liam might actually choose Zayn-- _Renaldo_ , even, in his tacky, worn-down clothing--over the beautiful girl, dressed in white just for him.

But no.

“Right,” Liam moans. “Because you don’t feel that way about me, of course,” Liam chides himself. “And now I’ve just gone and made a fool of myself, so let’s just forget that, because you already left me once, and I don’t really want it happening again and—”

Zayn interrupts him, quickly stepping over to Liam so he can squat down to his level. “Liam,” Zayn admonishes.

Liam avoids Zayn’s gaze to the best of his ability, instead training his eyes on his restless hands in his laps.

“Look at me,” Zayn commands, waiting until Liam glances up at him hesitantly, looking almost broken. Zayn wants to cry at the sight, wants to make it all better by swiping his tongue over Liam’s chapped lips, kiss away the pain until it’s nothing more than a dull, forgotten throbbing.

Instead, he clarifies to Liam as forcefully as he can, “Li, I didn’t stop talking to you because of that.” His heart drums in his ears, the anticipation building as he opens his mouth to speak again, to make as much clear as he can without completely ruining it all.

Liam lifts his eyelids a bit, fluttering his eyes slightly as he tries to process what Zayn is saying. “In fact, it was quite the opposite, okay?” Zayn can’t help it. His hands come out to Liam’s knees, rubbing soothing circles into the now-shaking joints.

Liam draws his eyebrows together, looking almost in shock. Zayn knows he could stop there, could just get up and leave the wedding now. Find Harry to calm Liam down, because he’s sure as fuck doing a terrible job of fixing anything at this point.

He doesn’t have to explain, could walk out of Liam’s life once again.

But he has a feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach, that that would mess Liam up more than saying what he has to say now.

“You called me your dinner mate, your best mate. Mate this, mate that.” Zayn clears his throat, lips turning into a frown. “I didn’t _want_ to be your mate, wanted to be the one that made you not feel alone.” He blinks slowly. “Thought I _did_ do that, actually.”

Liam’s lips upturn into a bit of a hopeful smile, and Zayn could forget that, _tries_ to forget that as he continues on quietly, “And then that fucking _kiss_. Nothing more than a goodbye peck on the cheek, but I thought about it for days, weeks, months afterwards. Always knocking it around in my head, wondering what would have been if I’d just slid my cheek over a few inches more, forcing you to find my lips instead.” Zayn squeezes his eyes shut. “But that’s the thing. I was always wondering, waiting, _wishing_. And I’d done it for years at that point, and it was too painful. Couldn’t find it in myself to keep waiting on the sidelines for you to realize that I was desperately aching for you.

But it’s too late now,” Zayn swallows. “You’re about to get married, and I am _not_ going to be the one that fucks that up.” Zayn shakes his head when Liam attempts to lean forward to grab a hold of his arm, instead slinking away from his touch. “No one is forcing you to marry her, of course, but I’m not going to be the one that rips you away from her.”

He flips on his heel, and he doesn’t look back.

Because he knows if he does, he won’t be strong enough to leave Liam behind for the wedding he actually _deserves_.

“ _Louis_ ,” Zayn hisses when he finally finds Harry and his friend slow dancing to some cheesy, Titanic-esque song.

Louis gives him a death glare, about to shoo him away when he sees the skin around his eyes quickly puffing, the tears threatening to break from his eyelids. He gives a quick nod, pressing a speedy kiss to Harry’s lips before pulling out his always handy Sharpie. He scribbles his number on his arm, giving him a light pat before he races over to Zayn.

“You better go check on your groom” is all Zayn says to the man, making sure Harry gives an (unsure) nod before Zayn begins to pull Louis out of the room.

He’s just about to fully exit when he takes one quick look back. Upon seeing Harry dashing around (and through) people to make it to the dressing rooms, he’s satisfied. This time, he allows Louis to pull him along and out of the building, suddenly losing all of his energy and willpower. He keeps gently leading Zayn until they end up right outside his car.

“What’s wrong?” Louis demands with a growl, seemingly ready to fight whoever did this to him. He softens, however, when Zayn finally breaks down in the tears he’d been holding in for years too long.

“ _Payne_ ” is all Zayn can sob, and Louis doesn’t understand, trying to figure out why he’s in _pain_.

“We should’ve known, Lou. _Payne. Payne. Payne_. Mr. _Payne_.”

And it finally clicks in Louis’ head, a slight memory of the large signs they’d seen coming in. “Liam,” he gasps, pulling Zayn in for a warm embrace. He drags his palm up and down his back in an attempt to be soothing, waits until Zayn’s cries turn into low whimpers before he asks quietly, “What happened, babe?”

Proceeding to inform Louis of the hour’s events, he goes fairly steadily until he finds himself almost at the end. Then, he pauses, chewing his lip hard as he mutters, “I told him how I felt. Why I stopped talking to him.”

“And he didn't feel the same?” Louis guesses in a whisper. 

The tears come back full force.

“I ran. Maybe he--it seemed like potentially he, maybe, did, I don’t know?--but I didn't _let_ him,” he hiccups, curling his face into Louis’ chest. Louis blinks, surprised. He looks like he's about to say something, but instead he lets out a low breath.

His palm returns, smoothing up and down over Zayn’s back as he lifts up on his tiptoes to press a light kiss to the top of Zayn’s head. “I'm sorry, love,” he finally sighs.

“Let’s go home,” Zayn sniffs in return. _If we don’t,_   _I’ll lose my willpower and run back in there, and I_ know _I’ll give him the chance to choose me._ “I don’t know a lot right now, but I _do_ know I don’t want to be here anymore.”


	2. Definitely The Or

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Zayn had feelings for me, I guess, feelings I never realized were mutual.” Liam sucks in a big breath before he turns to glare at Harry. “Did you know he wouldn’t even let me say anything after that? The bastard wouldn’t even let me fucking _finish_ , and I didn’t get to say the things that have been lodged in my throat for months, _years_ and what—” Liam’s voice cracks, and he blinks back the tears quickly springing up in his eyes. “What the _fuck_ am I supposed to do now, Harry?”
> 
> (Or where Liam has a decision to make—fulfill the promise he’s made to Sophia or go after Zayn.) [Chapter 2/2 of Little Swell of Maybe, a Wedding Crashers AU]

By the time Harry’s made his way back to the dressing room, any relative composure Liam’d had in front of Zayn has now flooded out of his body, leaving his cheeks chalk white and his shoulders slumped. His body has shriveled practically to half of its size, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut at the sight.

_This isn’t how—this shouldn’t be how_ — He thinks somberly.

But it’s not his wedding, is it? And it’s not his choice to say, nor has it ever been.

“Liam?” Harry asks gently, dragging his feet over to where Liam has his hands pressed firmly against the top of the circular, wood table. Seeing that his arms are shaking as he stands over it, Harry breathes out through his mouth slowly before carefully stepping closer to Liam. He’s careful not to touch or crowd him, instead only offering him a concerned look as he waits in stunted silence.

Liam’s eyes flicker to his right just barely, but he doesn’t acknowledge him with words. Instead, his breathing stutters. Finally, Liam croaks, “I can’t do this, Haz.”

There’s a pause, a moment of panic where Harry attempts to come up with some elegant way to respond. “Is that because of the lad that just left?” Harry sighs finally, not quite sure how to help except to prod for more answers. “Renaldo?”

Liam lets out a wet, low chuckle, though, in all reality, it sounds more like his throat has been forced through a grater.

“His name’s not actually Renaldo,” Liam says easily. This part he can get out without emotion tainting his words. The other parts? He’s not so sure. “That was Zayn.”

Recognition flashes across Harry’s face as he pieces it all together. “The Zayn that you fell in love with in London when you were in uni, the Zayn you would _not_ shut up about when I first met you in that dorm in America, the Zayn that fucking broke your heart? _That_ very same Zayn?”

Liam forces himself to lift his head up and then down in some sort of response. He hums, “That’s the one.”

“What did he _say_ to you?” Harry grunts, already feeling the molten rage boil inside of him at Zayn, for once more breaking his best mate’s heart. At Zayn, for once more leaving Harry to pick up the pieces.

His energy draining out of him all at once, Liam drags his own hands closer and closer to him, until he can easily take his weight off of them and sink into the nearby chair.

“He said he couldn’t ruin the wedding,” Liam says with as close to a straight face as he can manage. “But he admitted that the reason he stopped talking to me in the first place was ‘cause--well…” Liam trails off, sends a gulp ricocheting down his throat. “He had feelings for me, I guess, feelings I never realized were _mutual_.” Liam sucks in a big breath before he turns to glare at Harry. “Did you know he wouldn’t even let me say anything after that? The bastard wouldn’t even let me fucking _finish_ , and I didn’t get to say the things that have been lodged in my throat for months, _years_ and what—” Liam’s voice cracks, and he blinks back the tears quickly springing up in his eyes. “What the _fuck_ am I supposed to do now, Harry?”

Harry looks at him gently, as if afraid he’ll break at any moment. He grapples with an answer for a few moments before he responds honestly, “I don’t know.” When Liam continues to stare at him, he gives a dejected shrug. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do, mate.”

Liam lets out a huff. “That’s not _helpful_ ,” he chides.

“Okay, Li,” Harry says quietly, puling over a chair so he can be at the same height as Liam. He perches himself on the edge of it. Giving Liam a few minutes of silence, he allows the quiet to fill up the room and—hopefully—Liam’s thoughts before he looks hard at him. “Fuck Zayn.”

Liam quirks one eyebrow at him, and even through the tears that threaten to bubble over, a mischievous, little half-smile appears on his face before Harry rolls his eyes. “No, you _wanker_ , not like that.” He gives him a teasing slap on the arm before he clears his throat. “Like if he hadn’t shown up, how would you be feeling now?” At Liam’s furrowed eyebrows, he clarifies, ”Would you still be in here, on the verge of panicking?”

Pursing his lips in thought, Liam whispers, “Yeah, I think so.” Letting out a humorless chuckle, he mutters, “I asked the universe to give me some sort of God-given sign if she wasn’t the one, for fuck’s sake.”

Harry’s gaze softens. “Is that when you ran into Zayn again?”

Nodding his head with a knowing laugh, he responds, “You could say that.”

“Awwww,” Harry coos, his face lighting up.

“Always the romantic. You should be the one up there, not me, mate.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “No!” He yells with a bit too much force.

“It wasn’t a suggestion for you to take my spot,” Liam snorts, and with this, he finally feels like he’s beginning to come back to himself.

“It’s your call, Liam,” Harry says seriously, ignoring Liam’s attempt to lighten the mood. “I can’t make the decision for you.” He gives him a stern look. “Though you know if you decide not to go through with it, you have to tell her. In person.”

Liam bites his lip, the reality quickly hitting. Of what he’s about to do. “Fuck, I know,” he huffs. And it’s not like he would ever _not_ tell her in person, he just thought that _maybe_ if he wrote a really long and thoughtful letter, she would understand and he wouldn’t get anything glass thrown at him and—

“You are _not_ going to leave her a letter,” Harry deadpans.

Liam swears under his breath. “Give me a few minutes to think through what I’m going to say then.”

\---

Liam always knew having a “pre-reception”, as she’d called it, was a bad idea. It would only give him more time to second guess his decision, and he didn’t need to have any of those thoughts in his way that far down the line.

As he’d feared, he’d been right.

It would have been easier if he’d been _wrong_ , yes, but would it have been the right decision?

Liam still isn’t sure, even as he gulps down his fears, shuffling next to Sophia as he waits for her to finish blabbing to one of her bridesmaids.

“Sophia, err—” Liam finally stutters when she gives him a quirked eyebrow. Great. Even _she_ can tell he’s nervous. That’s never a good sign.

“Can we talk, love?”

She narrows her eyes at the pet name, instantly recognizing it for what it is: guilt. The only time he’d ever used the name in the past was when he was on the verge of apologizing for something or another. This time is no exception. 

She crinkles her nose up. “Sure, as long as it’s quick.” She flicks her wrist in dismissal. “We have a ceremony to get on with.” Offering a tight smile, she says it almost as a joke, as if Liam’s forgotten. Still, there’s an edge of uneasiness laced beneath her words.

Liam only nods in return. Shuffling her into his dressing room, his throat constricts more and more with every step, body well aware of what he’s about to do. He doesn’t know quite where to begin or what exactly he should say, so he just starts with what he seems to do best: a warning. “Listen, I—umm—I know you’re not going to be happy at what I have to say, but I need you to—hear me out.” His words fail in the middle, the growing knot in his throat momentarily cutting off his oxygen. He feels suddenly lightheaded, his world disoriented for a moment before he shifts on his feet to ground himself.

Ultimately deciding that won’t be enough, he slinks into the same seat he’d been in not ten minutes ago. He covers his eyes so he doesn’t have to face Sophia’s pursed lips and impatient look any longer.

After the silence grows to be almost insurmountable, he finally hiccups out, “I can’t—” Tears swell up in his throat and behind his eyes. “I can’t do this, Soph.” He tries out the nickname, but it falls flat on his tongue, tasting bitter like residues of poison. It doesn’t fit with the conversation, the attempt at lightening the mood seemingly out of place.

When she doesn’t burst in with anything, Liam posits nervously, “And before you ask, nothing _happened_ , per se. In fact, I’ve been feeling this way for a while.” He pops his eyes open at this to gauge Sophia’s reaction. Blinking to clear his vision, Liam unexpectedly realizes she doesn’t actually look _surprised_. Upon seeing this, he breathes out the thought he’s been wrestling to cover up for months now. “And I have a feeling you have been, too.”

She blinks quickly in response, but since she doesn’t disagree, he continues on with a sigh as he runs a shaky finger through his hair. “There’s so much pressure on us. So so much pressure. From your family, and your friends, too, but—” His hand stills on the top of his head, fingers still curling through a few locks as he finally makes eye contact with Sophia. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

Keeping her eyes on Liam, she takes a deep breath in through her nose before slowly exhaling through her mouth. Meanwhile, Liam does his best to ignore her suddenly watery gaze, afraid he’ll give in if he focuses too much on her tears. 

He braces himself for a fight, for a string of expletives all directed at him. But it never comes. Instead, she says quietly, “You’re right.”

Liam’s mouth goes slack at the words. That was definitely _not_ what he was expecting. In fact, he’d more or less been waiting for the opposite. “This isn’t—we’re not—” She gulps as she crosses her arms. “Does anyone else know?”

Liam lifts his gaze to finally catch her eye. “Harry.” He pauses. “And all the groomsmen. I gave them a heads up.”

Sophia nods absently before she sighs, “I thought if I just kept pushing for it, practically _begging_ you to propose to me, then maybe it would work out.” She shakes her head. “But I can’t make you do this, Liam. That’s not fair to you.”

Liam flinches at the softness in her tone, the _caring_ intonation, and for half a second he almost wants to take it back.

But he doesn’t, because it wouldn’t be for _love_ that he followed through with it, but for guilt. For a certainty that he’s not sure at this very moment if he can ever have with Zayn.

Because he’s not sure if Zayn will ever speak to him again, ever even let him explain himself.

But certainty is a poor substitute for that solid but still heart-pounding love he’s been aching for for years.

“I’ll call it off,” Sophia says suddenly, surely.

Liam’s eyes widen. He would have never in a million years expected her to say anything close to that, was just planning on never seeing anyone from the wedding again. Well, except for maybe his close family, Harry, and his groomsmen.

“Call it my apology, yeah?” She closes her eyes. “I knew you weren’t ready, didn’t _want_ it, but I kept pushing and pushing and—” She looks chagrined for a moment. “I know if you call it off, my dad will ask you to pay back the thousands of dollars that this cost, so—” She reaches her hand out to rub at Liam’s arm, but she freezes when she realizes what she’s doing. He gives a reassuring nod, so she moves her arm the rest of the way downward, offering him a quick, soft pat. “You better go now. Clear the scene while you still have time.” She smiles weakly at him. “I’ll tell them I forced you to leave.”

Liam isn’t sure how to respond, suddenly can’t remember how he normally stands, moves, or holds his body. So, he jerkily nods before he starts to step out of the room. “Thank you,” he mumbles, not allowing for an answer before he’s out the door, rushing to find the freedom and clarity he so desperately craved.

\---

Harry gives Liam a day before he starts to gently prod him, ask how he’s doing, if he needs anything.

“Fuck off” is all Liam responds each time, narrowing his eyes menacingly to the boy in front of him.

Harry raises his arms in surrender, but continues to keep an eye out for him as the next two days roll on. Though it’s difficult to do when Liam’s gotten so used to Harry trying to gently chide him and get him moving that just the squint of his eyes is enough to shut Harry up.

On the third day, Harry rushes back inside the hotel room after grabbing breakfast, looking completely soaked. Attempting to clear the rain from his boots to the best of his ability, he angrily stomps at the doormat before toeing off his sopping boots. Looking up to see Liam exactly where he left him, he gives him a disapproving sigh. “ _Liam_ ,” he warns lowly.

He’s curled up in his favorite armchair, and the many blankets that cover him _still_ don’t stop the smell of body odor from reaching Harry’s nose. He crinkles it in poorly disguised disgust. “Mate, it’s been three days.” Harry is gentle with his words, setting them carefully in front of Liam like a set of china.

Liam only grunts. “Don’t even,” Liam sulks, pulling the blankets up over his head so he doesn’t have to see Harry’s look of pity anymore. “Did you bring me food?”

Harry hums in response as he sets the plastic plate down on the table next to Liam. “Yeah, I did. Want me to make you a cup of tea to go with it?” He smiles knowingly. “I saw they had your favorite, the one I _know_ we can’t get back in America.”

After a moment of rustling, Liam pokes his head out from the blankets curiously.

Harry nods firmly. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He’s silent while he waits for the water to boil, contemplating the best way to get Liam to listen to him. The food helps, of course. As will the tea.

Harry knows he shouldn’t rush things for Liam, knows that it’s not really his place to do so. But Liam’s time in England is quickly coming to a close, and there’s nothing that Liam can really do about that unless he tries to figure out what’s going on with Zayn. If Zayn is even willing to be a part of his life.

Allowing the sound of loud, uncaring chewing to fill the room, Harry makes sure not to make a peep until he’s handed the hot carrot and ginger tea over, a little smile finally coming over Liam’s features. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen that in a while,” Harry beams.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Liam grumbles as he cradles the paper teacup in his hands. He gives it one longing look, sniffing in the tea he’s missed for so many years before he’s taking a small sip of it.

“Good?” Harry asks, doing his best to keep the conversation as simple and easy as possible. To start.

“Burned my tongue, but it was worth it,” Liam mutters into the cup, carefully avoiding Harry’s gaze.

Harry nods, expression glossing over for a moment before he gently sits himself against the arm of Liam’s chair. “Li, I know you don’t want to,” he starts slowly, flinching when Liam starts to retreat inside himself again, body folding further into the chair. “But you’re going to have to make a decision pretty soon about what you’re going to do, eh? Stay in America or go back to the UK? You only have a few more days of your holiday left, you know.”

Liam groans in response. “I’d hoped that that would all just sort of—” He waves his hand. “Disappear if I refused to even think about it.”

Harry breathes out a laugh. “Sorry, mate, but that’s not how it works.”

Liam puffs his cheeks out as he looks hard at Harry, slowly letting the air dissolve between his lips as he refuses to answer. He’s not _stupid_. He knows what Harry is suggesting, he just—well, he just doesn’t want to do it.

“So, what, I should just call up Zayn and be like, ‘Hey, man, it was great to see you at my wedding. I called it all off, so how’s about we meet up for tea?’” He plasters a forced smile onto his face, making it larger and more cartoon-like than necessary. 

Harry huffs. “Nah, you don’t need to do that. Just—check in with him. They say if you’re into someone, you’re supposed to wait three days before calling.” He gives Liam a pointed look. “Which means it’s time now.”

Liam groans. “Who is this mysterious _they?_ Who decided that was the right thing to do, anyway? That’s shite.”

Tsking, Harry interrupts him. “No excuses. You can call him or not, but making excuses isn’t going to help anything.”

Liam opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it, promptly closing it again.

“You didn’t end it _because_ of Zayn, Li,” Harry whispers after a moment of silence. “You can tell him that, you know.”

Liam doesn’t respond.

By the time Liam works up the nerve to call Zayn, it’s the end of the day. Well, if Liam’s being honest, it’s night. Only as the panic begins to settle in deep in his chest does he realize that he needs to at least try to set things right. Because, at the very least, he’d like Zayn back in his life. In whatever way he’ll allow him.

It’s very anticlimactic, though, really. His hand’s been twitching to make the call for days now, his brain sending him into an endless tug of war. But the whole altercation lasts less than thirty seconds. It only rings a couple of times before it goes to voicemail. Liam’s voice wobbles through the line. “Hey, uhh, Zayn, just—give me a call. Please?” He bites his lip. “I need to tell you some stuff.” A pause. “It’s important.”

He forces himself to hang up before he can start rambling on then and there and plead for Zayn to give him a chance.

A day passes. Even though he keeps his phone by him at all times and starts whenever he gets any notifications, the phone doesn’t even ring once.

Liam sighs. He gives it another day before he tells Harry with a pout.

“He—didn’t call back?” Harry shakes his head disapprovingly, and the look of determination that takes over his face scares Liam a bit. “No, no, no,” he repeats to himself. “Here,” he says as he pulls out his phone. “I have Louis’s number. Call him instead. Convince him to let you talk to Zayn.”

Liam blinks twice, eyes widening. “Are you _mad_? He’d never let me do that.”

Harry shrugs thoughtfully. “I think Louis knows more than you think.” He texts Liam his number before he adds, “He’ll do what’s best for Zayn.”

Liam doesn’t call until Harry’s expectant look becomes too much, after he glances back at him one too many times.

His breath shuddering as he hears the low, mechanical purr on the other end of the line, he swears his heart has sped up to fit three heartbeats between every ring.

He picks up on the last one.

“ _Liam_ ,” Louis growls, sounding a bit out of breath as if he’s just run to another room to answer the call. “I swear to _God_ , this better be good. Zayn’s a complete fucking mess over you, okay?” He hisses. “I’m not just about to let you waltz back into his life to hurt him again.”

Even though Liam knows he should feel defensive, hurt, _something_ —warmth surges into his muscles and all he can think to ask is “You still have my number?”

There’s a moment of silence. “Never lost it, Liam,” Louis says quietly, and though he tries to hide it, Liam can still hear the bit of _fondness_ behind his voice. And it—well, it gives him hope.

“Can I come over? Please?” He sounds a bit too earnest, but he doesn’t care, needs to say the words now before he loses the chance to do so. “Is Zayn with you?”

Louis lets out a low, dark chuckle. “Been with me for three full days, mate.” Just like him with Harry. “Hasn’t left the flat.”

The words suck the breath out of Liam’s mouth, knowing that _he’s_ the one that’s caused that. All because of one misguided decision. “Give me an address and I’ll come. I don’t know if I can—” He swallows hard, ignoring the fragility of his voice. “If I can make it better, but I want to try at least.”

When Louis doesn’t respond, Liam tacks on a whine. “ _Please_?”

Louis grunts. “You have one chance.”

\---

Liam stands outside of Louis’s apartment for far too long, contemplating whether he should or shouldn’t ring the doorbell. Finally, when he feels like his body can’t take the stress anymore, he lifts his hand up, pressing in on the doorbell with a sharp inhale.

He’d been practicing what he was going to say the whole ride over, working and reworking his whole speech until it came out just right.

He forgets all that when Zayn opens the door, though. Hair a disheveled mess, it looks like even the bags under his eyes have bags. Paling at the sight in front of him, Zayn looks like he’s about to say something—shoo him away maybe—when he sighs, “Come on in.” He slides the door open a bit further, seemingly the closest thing to an invitation Liam’s going to get.

“I was hoping you were my takeaway,” Zayn grumbles as he slams the door behind Liam.

Liam shrugs. “Sorry, Z.” He gives the closest thing he can to a smile. “I’d have brought some food, but Louis didn’t give me much forewarning when he said I could come.”

Zayn swears under his breath. “That fucker. Just told me he had an errand to run.” He scowls. “Yeah, _right_. More like he didn’t want me to kill him when you came strolling through the door.” Zayn crosses his arms, letting out a sharp breath before he says dejectedly, “Why are you here?”

“’Cause you didn’t let me speak, Zayn,” Liam moans, his bottom lip protruding into some sort of half-pout. Pressing his fingernails into his side, he attempts to draw a bit of pain to distract himself. “You didn’t give me the chance to explain my side of the story.”

Zayn huffs as he shifts on his feet to cock his hip out. “Your side of the story, Liam? Your side of the story involved a fucking _wedding_ , a love story to tell the ages.” He doesn’t mean the words to sound as bitter as they do.

“It would have been a love story to tell the ages, yeah, I guess.” Still standing in the cramped doorway of the apartment, there’s not much space to begin with. Liam takes a small step forward anyway, hoping that maybe he’ll be able to break down Zayn’s wall if he can just get a bit closer. “But it wasn’t ever my love story to tell.”

Would have _been one?_ _Wasn’t_ his _love story?_ Zayn drops his arms from his chest. “What?” He dares to ask, keeping his eyes on the floor in case—well, just in case. He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it.

“I didn’t go through with the wedding, Z.”

Zayn pushes down the aching hope that threatens to burst his chest open, choosing to frown at Liam instead. “Why are you telling me this?” He licks his lips. “I told you not to base it on me.”

“Zayn, you fell at my feet right after I asked for a sign not to get married.” He raises his eyebrows as if challenging him to disagree. “So not only was I obviously _already_ unsatisfied and looking for a way out. But, more than that—” He interrupts himself to raise a finger up. “There’s no way I could ever properly untangle you from that, yeah?” He blinks away the quickly arriving tears, swallows down the fast approaching desperation in his voice. “Untangle you from _me_.”

Zayn thinks this over, his expression softening for just a moment before he asks quietly, “What did she say?”  
LIam inhales deeply. “She was okay, actually. I think she _knew_ on some level that it wasn’t going to work out.” He draws his eyebrows together. “Whether that would have been that day or a year down the road, there would’ve always been trouble.” 

“Have you talked to her since?” Zayn asks suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at Liam.

“No, not at all,” the other boy responds quickly. “Haven’t really even talked to _anyone_ , really. Harry, I guess.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Only really wanted to talk to you.”

“I didn’t—I didn’t even listen to your message,” Zayn admits sheepishly as he avoids Liam’s eyes. “I deleted it right after you sent it.” He moves his gaze back to Liam’s. “‘Cause I knew if I didn’t do it then, I’d give in. And I’d listen. And I’d call you.”

Liam grimaces, trying to hide the hurt that pulses through his veins. “And why would it be so bad to call me, Zayn, huh?” He can feel his voice rising, his anger multiplying, but he doesn’t care. It’s too late to stop it now. He’s here now, and he’s not going home until he finally _understands_.

“Because I can’t say _no_ to you, Liam!” Zayn cries. “I’ve never been able to.” He shakes his head as he feels himself start to quake on his feet. “Walking away from you at that wedding was the hardest thing I have ever had to do, you know that?”

“Then why are you trying to do it again?” Liam almost pleads, voice cracking as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Li,” Zayn moans softly. He sounds... concerned. Like he truly does care.

Liam can feel Zayn’s careful hand as it hovers over his arm. He wants to turn away, wants to somehow stop this pain that’s expanding in his chest but he can’t. 

“I—I’m not, okay?” Zayn sighs before he presses in a bit, gently rubbing up and down, up and down. “I just didn’t know what to expect, _still_ don’t know what to expect.” His hand stills. “Not sure what you’re looking for or what you want me to do.” He pulls back suddenly. “Do you want me to apologize for barging into your wedding? Try to become friends again? Or—” _Something more?_

He leaves the rest of the _or_ unsaid, the heavy silence filled with the unspoken words.

Liam forces his eyes open to give Zayn a pleading look. “The or. Definitely the or.” He nods intently. “I’m in love with you, Zayn,” Liam breathes. “I always have been, yeah?”

And he’s thought those exact words so many times, always imagined what they would sound like coming out of his mouth. Always imagined how Zayn would react to them. 

Just saying it aloud dissolves the growing boulder inside his chest.

Zayn looks completely and utterly lost, biting his lip as he squeaks, “But the—mate thing? Not wanting to be alone? What the _fuck_ , Liam?”

Liam clears his throat as he tries to hide the quickly spreading red on his cheeks. “I was hinting to you, Zed,” Liam confides gently. “I didn’t want to be alone anymore, I wanted to be with _you_.” He shifts on his feet. “Throwing around the word mate was a poorly veiled disguise so that—I don’t know—so that maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious to all of our friends, I guess?”

Zayn’s mouth forms into a small o-shape for a quick second before his eyebrows dart up. 

“Listen, I know we can’t completely start over,” Liam says quietly. Then with a playful tone, he adds, “‘Cause, like, this odd hybrid of my English and American accent isn’t gonna go away anytime soon.” His lips quirk up before he finishes, “But I want to get to know you. Again.”

He chances a look at Zayn, and when he doesn’t look completely and utterly horrified, he admits, “There’s a lot of things I’ve wondered about you.”

Zayn raises his eyebrow, lips upturning just the slightest as he prods, “Oh yeah, like what?”

Liam decides to gamble, and his racing heart reminds him of that every word. “Mostly what your lips would taste like against mine. You know, very important things like that.” To go in tandem with his words, he takes the final step between him and Zayn. Now close enough he can feel Zayn’s breath against him, Liam begins to panic, having no idea what Zayn will do in return.

Zayn gives him a once-over, taking in everything before he accuses darkly, “You’re just _using_ me for my body.”

And Liam’s just about to jump in and explain, try to backtrack and stumble on his words until Zayn understands what he meant when he sees the dramatic faux shocked expression he puts on.

Liam can’t help it. He snorts.

“You know,” Zayn continues on, as if nothing’s ever happened. Lifting up just slightly, he ghosts his lips over Liam’s. “I’ve heard that makeup sex is _quite_ brilliant, though.”

And are they _really_ doing this? They’ve quickly gone from fighting to pleading to—flirting? Not just flirting. _Shameless_  flirting, with no end in sight.

Liam tsks against Zayn’s mouth. “Not sure if that’s how makeup sex works, Zayn.” He shrugs, holding back a grin as well as he’s able. “You see, we’ve never been together, so how can we make up?”

“Maybe not,” Zayn concedes quietly as he dips the final millimeter to press his lips against Liam’s. He moves slowly, gently, as if at any moment this whole thing could break. He waits for Liam to return the gesture before he pulls back with a smirk. “But I’ve imagined it so many times we might as well have been together this whole time.” 

And Liam gives a knowing nod, beaming because _same_. 

Zayn offers a half-smile before he finishes, “’Cause I’ve been in love with you this whole time, too.”

At this, Liam moves to find the other man’s lips again, breathing in the scent that is Zayn, the taste that is Zayn, his hands quickly roaming over the new uncharted territory that is _Zayn._ Because if they’ve waited a whole Goddamn three years to finally get together, they have a lot of lost time to make up for.

And, as Zayn drags Liam closer to the couch, that familiar little swell of _maybe_ soars inside of him, only it sounds an awful lot like _yes_. And, this time, he doesn’t have to push it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Please leave a comment below about what you thought (or just kudos if you're shy :D) or feel free to pop into my Tumblr ask [ here](ifigureditout.tumblr.com)! Thanks so much for reading x


End file.
